My young readers will recollect, that in my last volume I afforded them some curious particulars regarding the “shark family;” I am now about to relate to them a story“ concerning one, which I know to be true. It was the year, 1835, that the fine Indiaman, the ”Rajah,“ had crossed the line, and stood on her way to Madras. There were, on board of her, two brothers, named Palgrave; one had the baptismal designation of ”Edwin,“ and the other’s name was ”Arthur.“ They were twin brothers, and Arthur was only a few minutes older than Edwin.
Both these boys had been brought up together—they had the same nurse, the same tutor, the same education, the same pocket-money. They were the same in appearance, in countenance, in stature, and so like that one was often mistaken for the other.
They were, however, somewhat different in character and disposition. Edwin was gentle and retiring, Arthur was bold and resolute. Edwin was fond of books and the pen, and of the pencil. Arthur delighted in riding, fishing, shooting, and boating. Arthur wished to go to sea. Edwin wanted to be a clergyman.
At last the time came for each to make a choice of a profession. Arthur was determined to be a sailor, and his father took the requisite means to get him entered as a “middy” on board the “Rajah,” and everything was soon settled, and the little boy appeared, dressed in his “uniform,” to the great joy of all his brothers and sisters, except Edwin, who looked upon it as a sign that he was now to lose the society of his beloved brother for a long time—perhaps for ever.
This was more than he could endure, and he therefore implored his father, with tears in his eyes, to get him a “berth” in the same ship, and offered to give up his idea of becoming a clergyman, and to share all the perils of the deep, that he might not lose the companionship of his brother.
I need not say how pure and holy fraternal affection is; nor how pleasing it is in the sight of Him who would have all men to be Brothers. But I may say, that the love that existed between Edwin and Arthur has never been excelled in my experience.
The ship “Rajah” pursued her way with a fair wind and a calm sea, and as she neared the point of her destination the weather became hotter and hotter. At last, the Indiaman lay becalmed, the sun darting down its heat so furiously as to make the boards of the deck shrink and crack. All the passengers were in a “melting mood,” and the crew of the ship in little better than a fry. The sun was indeed so hot that you might almost cook a beef-steak on the flat of the locker.
The most rational thing to do—when a person is hot—is to devise some means of getting one’s-self cool. And among the various devices commonly practised to produce this effect, that of bathing is said to be a very good one.
Many, therefore were the “bathers” that dropped over the ship’s sides to take a “salt-water cure” for heat, and among the bathers was Edwin. A sail had been let down with a large “bulge” in it from the main and mizen-yard, and on this, which had about the depth of six feet of water in its lowest part, the young middies and some of the passengers found a very pleasant bath.